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Last weekend, I strolled into an Oakland, California, herb shop and saw a sign printed with a message that stopped me in my tracks: “BLACK LIVES MATTER.” In three words, the poster told me that the business owners (who happened to be white) understood the power of using both their privilege and their platform, in this case to affirm black people’s humanity, and that they could be allies.

Through the #BlackLivesMatter movement, activists have been calling for an end to police brutality and systemic racism in the United States. In 2012, it formed in response to George Zimmerman’s acquittal in Trayvon Martin’s murder, and gained momentum following juries’ decisions not to indict the police officers who killed Michael Brown and Eric Garner. As an African-American whose parents lived through segregation, and participated in civil disobedience to ensure my access to equal rights under the law, I’m mindful that it’s my turn to fight for the right to live without being racially profiled, targeted, attacked, or discriminated against because of the color of my skin. And while I’m inspired by the profound connection I have with other African Americans organizing for #BlackLivesMatter, I also know that we can’t do it alone. To change politics, culture, and the media, we need white people and other people of color as allies.

I recently asked a close white friend why they hadn’t taken a public stand when I’d heard them privately express concerns about police accountability and racism. I said, “I need you to be an ally.” The response I got was a sincere question: “I want to but it seems so big, and I don’t know where to start. What do you want me to do?”

After taking a deep breath and explaining that racism is so big, and that it feels so big to those of us who have to experience it, I talked them through some guidelines for being an ally. These suggestions apply to almost any situation in which you want to support a cause that does not directly affect you or your identity, and I learned them through my years of being an activist (sometimes the hard way).

Own your privilege.

Before you can be an ally, you have to own and understand your privilege. There are long histories of homophobia, transphobia, racism, colonialism, sizeism, sexism, ableism, Islamophobia, economic injustice, and other injustices in our society. People are also given unearned advantages or benefits because of identities that are centered and normalized in the dominant culture: That’s privilege. As a woman of color, I experience sexism and racism. I’m also middle class, Christian, cisgender, straight, able-bodied, and an American citizen, all of which come with significant privilege.

A few years ago, a friend tweeted a photo from a shoot she participated in online for a plus-size clothing store owned by a young woman of color. I love fashion, so I jumped into the conversation on social media. After complimenting my friend and the store owner on the amazing shoot, I tweeted that I was sad that I couldn’t wear any of the clothes, and that I wished they came in my size because they were so beautiful. My friend responded by asking me to think about how many options I have for clothes that curvy women don’t have because of sizeism and fatphobia. (A lot.) She asked me to think about a time when I’d been in a store and had someone tell me there was nothing in my size. (I couldn’t think of one.) She also asked me if I had seen women of my size featured in advertisements. (I have, many times.) With each of these questions, I realized she had a point. I had thin privilege. Plus-size women deserve their own space, and I’m not entitled to it. I was embarrassed, but I understood. I’ve had the same conversations and frustrations with white friends when they’ve asked why they can’t participate in activities and groups specifically created for people of color. It’s another inescapable part of being a good ally—you’re going to make mistakes.

Be vulnerable.

Putting yourself out there as an ally isn’t always easy. Being vulnerable is a part of owning your privilege. Expect to be uncomfortable. Be ready and willing to learn, even if it means that you could be called out for not knowing something. If you’re called out and it makes you feel upset or humiliated, know you’re not the first person to feel that, and you won’t be the last. Humans make mistakes. Don’t let an error keep you from supporting the causes you care about. Process your feelings with other allies, journal about what you learned and hope to do differently in the future, and make a pledge to yourself to be a better listener and more thoughtful communicator next time. Prepare to apologize when necessary.

Listen up.

When a person expresses frustration about oppression that you haven’t experienced, it’s time to listen. It is unfair to judge the merits of other people’s experiences when you haven’t walked a lifetime in their shoes. Even if you believe your intentions are good and that you only mean well, derailing conversations or diminishing people’s stories does more to advance oppression than dismantle it. One recent example: The ever-present quip in response to #BlackLivesMatter, “But don’t all lives matter?” The New York Times asked the critical theorist Judith Butler (a white woman) to respond to that very question, and in her response she said that, “One reason the chant ‘Black lives matter’ is so important is that it states the obvious, but the obvious has not yet been historically realized.” Unlike asking, “But don’t all lives matter?” her answer drew attention to the issue at hand without undermining it.

I like this article because I am a white, privileged, cis-gender female and sometimes it is difficult to understand and empathize with other groups and situations.
However, I disagree with today’s protest in Boston, Massachusetts, my hometown (for those of you who don’t know, protesters joined together and blocked lanes of I-93). These people prevented ambulances and fire rescue from reaching emergencies, as well as people trying to get to work, get home to their families and one woman even missed her father’s funeral due to traffic. I believe that black lives matter however this protest has made the ideas behind the protest into negative ideas in the eyes of Americans. The protesters are just making everyone look bad, in my opinion. Maybe I do not understand this protest like other POCs might but I see this as more destructive than constructive.

I wish we could protest like France did; most of the country peacefully united under the Je Suis Charlie statement to show solidarity. Putting the lives and well being of others (of all races/sexes/abilities/genders/etc.) in danger to further an “agenda” for lack of a better term, is wrong, to me.

Hi Emily.
There were many peaceful marches in Boston and Cambridge this past month, similar to what the French are doing right now. Did you go to those?
It’s strange to me that you should be focusing at such length on today’s events when there was plenty of opportunity to be positively participating a few weeks ago…
Love,
V

I saw the peaceful protests and of course I support those. If I still lived there I definitely would have joined those it’s just the one yesterday really bothered me because my 2 and 4 year old cousins sat in daycare for 3 extra hours because my aunt and uncle were in traffic, my 94 year old grandmother missed a crucial doctor’s appointment due to the traffic and my autistic 12 year old niece missed a birthday dinner/show due to the traffic. So I definitely support the more peaceful protests, I just think the people who organized the protest yesterday on I-93 didn’t think about how it was going to affect other people.

Emily, I’m a Bostonian too and I empathize with the inconveniences your family experienced. That being said, I’ve experienced disrupted traffic in this city due to construction, baseball games at Fenway, hockey games at TD Garden, the marathon, St. Patrick’s Day and countless other parades, the Presidential motorcade, and the list goes on. This includes emergency vehicles being rerouted, and even people being prevented from entering their own homes (during the last 3 innings of the World Series two years ago, police set up a blockade and wouldn’t even let PEDESTRIANS who LIVED THERE into the Fenway neighborhood). If city officials can cause that much disruption on a regular basis, citizens crying out for justice shouldn’t be demonized. Blocking traffic also isn’t exactly a brand-new form of civil unrest. Those marches during the Civil Rights Movement in the 60s didn’t stick to the sidewalks and meekly walk by with no disruption, because if they did, there would have been no news cameras to capture the violent beatings of blacks that stirred up empathy and led powerful white leaders around the country to make change. If you don’t believe me, go see Selma because its an amazing film that draws excellent parallels to the modern struggle and isn’t getting the attention it deserves.
“Why do we do it this way? We do it this way because it is our experience that the nation doesn’t move around questions of genuine equality for the poor and for black people until it is confronted massively, dramatically in terms of direct action.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

I did attend 2 small peaceful ones in my (predominantly white, racist, southern) hometown last week however there hasn’t been too much protesting here. Perhaps I should start my own protest to raise awareness here.

I did have one question: I totally get the criticality of understanding that it’s not about you and that you are privileged and you don’t face this oppression, but I guess I’m confused about how those ideas coexist with the Lilla Watson quote and what Jamia was saying about your freedom as an ally being inextricable from the freedom of the oppressed group. Does that mean that in a sense a society that’s oppresses certain groups in specific ways effectively oppresses everyone? I don’t know, I guess that idea conflicts in my head with my fundamental understanding of being an ally and owning my privilege. It makes me think of the recent protests against police brutality, and the fact that along with many other white allies, I chose not to participate in certain chants such as “I can’t breathe” because it felt disingenuous as a white person to be repeating the words of a man whose experience I will never share. I’m not facing this oppression; although I have giant issues with it, I, personally, can “breathe.” So I guess I just have difficulty understanding how I can claim that my “liberation is bound up” with that of oppressed groups without seeming not to acknowledge my privilege. Can anyone help me to understand this better?

I think your comments about the “I can’t breathe” chant are very reasonable/relatable. As for the Lilla Watson quote–I guess I’ve taken it more to mean that if equality is important to a person, then the freedom of the ally doesn’t mean anything to them until the oppressed group(s) is free as well. Owning privilege, even publicly, doesn’t mean that you can’t be ashamed of it. I agree with you, it is a conflicting idea.

The idea may seem conflicting, but it isn’t when interpreted broadly. It’s about seeing ourselves as being connected through our common humanity (while of course recognizing that some of us are more marginalized and others are privileged which comes with different burdens and advantages). One can own their privilege and acknowledged that any affront to another person’s humanity is an affront to theirs even if they are not targeted personally.

For example, I know I will never be free until trans people are free because the same forces that work to police my gender are working to undermine theirs.

It’s great to learn about the history of the movements you support, ally or not. Lots of people today don’t know that the Stonewall riots were the precursors to LGBTQ Pride today, which is why pride parades always happen at the same time of year. Not like a sci-fi con, happening every single weekend of the year

I really really like this article, and it’s something I need to keep in mind as a white ally. I’ve been learning so much by participating in the black lives matter movement and I need to be mindful that my experiences with privilegenwill often lead me to be inadvertently oppressive.

That said, I hope my small correction won’t come off as overly critical. When you are talking about gender identity, the right thing to say is cisgender/transgender, the adjective, since it’s a description of an innate trait. Cisgendered (and hyphenations like cis-gender) imply externalized actions/decisions and are considered to be incorrect by the trans community. Its not your fault or anything, just thought I would let you know.